


little divinities

by hamiltrashed



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Equal opportunity bottoming, Everybody will bottom, Lust at First Sight, M/M, POV Alternating, There will be sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamiltrashed/pseuds/hamiltrashed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick picks up Daryl for a robbery he was only kind of involved in, and tries to get him to give up information on his brother. But instead of being completely at odds, Rick and Daryl are completely into each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Michelle_A_Emerlind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/gifts).



> This is not only my longest fic ever, but also the first chaptered one I've ever posted online in like, all of my 11 years of writing fanfiction. So this is totally new for me, but hopefully it goes over well. Gifted to MAE for being a badass and helpful beta.
> 
>  
> 
>  _i love you ..._  
>  for the little divinities your wrists  
> and the beautiful mysteries your fingers  
> \- e. e. cummings

_Handsome animal_ is Daryl’s first impression. Greying curls and the barest hint of a beard along his jaw, close-fitting uniform and fingers purposefully caressing a gun, a trace of identifiably newfound swagger. And coming his way.

Daryl isn’t prepared in the slightest for this. It’s easy to breathe when you’re looking at an ordinary person, or when an ordinary person is looking at you. But this is no run of the mill human being striding toward him from across the street. This is something else entirely. Daryl is frozen in the alley; somewhere, in the back of his mind, Merle’s voice is telling him to run. It occurs to him briefly that Merle actually _is_ running, along with the others, leaving him behind in the hope that Daryl will take care of himself, just like always. Instead, he is standing stock-still, staring, even as the deputy stops in front of him.

The deputy speaks, says something that doesn’t mean anything to Daryl for a long moment, until it worms its way inside his brain and translates to, “They left you here to take the fall, hmm?”

And Daryl, caught between dazed bliss and anxiety, mumbles words he thinks might be, “Don’t matter.” And it doesn’t. He suddenly wants nothing more than to be here, even as his hands are gently but forcibly placed behind his back, even as handcuffs click shut around his wrists.

“C’mon,” those pretty lips say, and Daryl lets himself be led away, thinking only one thought: _I’d go anywhere with you_.

#

Rick doesn’t understand why the man didn’t run. He would have reveled in the chase, potentially a little too much. He’s fresh from his divorce with a new vigour for everything else in his life, and he would have liked to play the hunter after some prey. Sure, he could have chased the others and let their whipping boy go, but in the end, he supposes it doesn’t really matter. The others were caught mere blocks away from the alley where Rick found them. And whatever the reason that this one didn’t run, Rick is grateful, because all he needs is for him to flip on the others. He’s the one who hung back, after all; he’s present on the surveillance video of the robbery from three nights before, present but not participating. It shouldn’t be hard to get him to talk when they all left him behind.

There’s another probable reason why Rick took him that has crossed his mind several times since he sat down in the interview room and pushed a cup of water across the table. It’s not just because he didn’t run, though that certainly aided in his capture, and it’s not just because because Rick needs him for evidence against the others, though it certainly would help. No, the _real_ reason is that Daryl Dixon is damn beautiful. 

It’s an unconventional kind of beauty, the kind that glares out at you when you least expect it, when you take the time to not just look at a face but really see it. And what Rick sees is sleepy, startlingly blue eyes, feathery hair that falls just above them, the annoyed set of his jaw, the soft pout of his lips. He’s flawless, Rick thinks, and _that’s_ a real big part of why he took him in. Because the creature before him might be a literal angel and Rick wants to be blessed or saved or whatever it is that angels do.

Rick watches him, trying hard to hold onto the soft noise of pleasure that’s on the tip of his tongue after a long moment in which he stares at Daryl’s throat as he swallows down the water Rick brought him. He’s aware that he himself is being watched, that the only reason he’s being allowed to participate so heavily on this case is because it’s an opportunity, almost an audition for a promotion. He may have already caught the perpetrators but now he has to bring it home, lock it down without a hitch. This means that despite how much he may want to, leaning across the table and kissing Daryl’s mouth until he can’t breathe is career suicide. Still, he keeps the need buried inside, and tells himself it’s for later. Because there _has_ to be a later.

In the meantime, Rick clears his throat, steels himself, looks straight at Daryl, and starts off simple.

#

“So what happened three nights ago, Daryl?”

Daryl doesn’t look at Deputy Grimes, stares instead at the empty cup on the table and wishes he hadn’t drained all the water in one go. His mouth already feels dry again, and the sound of the deputy saying his name is making it all the worse.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Daryl says. If he can just get through this without looking at him, without being taken in by everything that he is...

A photo slides across the table and Daryl promptly memorises the hand on top of it, long fingers that he imagines could do incredible things to him. Of course he knows that there will be no instance in which he sleeps with this man, no matter how much he wanted it from the second he set eyes on him. But he can’t stop himself from searching out a ring, even knowing that it will impact absolutely nothing in his life (except maybe his fantasies for the next decade). There isn’t one, but there’s a faint, fading tan line where one used to be, and it screams ‘divorced’ at Daryl like a neon sign. It’s not his usual style, but then, Daryl doesn’t think there’s a planet on which looks and attitude like that wouldn’t make _anybody’s_ thighs quiver with anticipation.

Daryl watches the hand ‘til it moves away, then stares at the photo in front of him. It’s him, unmistakably him, caught on the camera across the street that Merle hadn’t bothered to find out was there. Daryl thinks he wouldn’t be visible if he hadn’t been stupid enough to light up a cigarette while he stood watch outside the building. The glow from the lighter illuminates his face in stunning clarity; it’s not hard to see how Rick tracked him down. All it would have taken was a question to the right person, a show and tell of the surveillance, and the game was done. 

Daryl pushes the photo back across the table. “Suppose I need a lawyer,” he says tightly, still keeping his eyes away from the deputy’s face. 

“Or you could just tell me what I want to know about what happened, and you get to go on home today. I mean, it’s pretty clear, Daryl, that you weren’t doing anything. It’s all on the video. You stood outside the whole time before we got there. Not involved at all. But those guys, the ones who ran? They’ll go down for this anyway. They all got rap sheets a mile long and you don’t tend to run like that if you’re not guilty, you know.” The deputy takes a breath, or maybe it’s just a long-suffering sigh. “I just want to know who planned it, maybe where the jewelry is.”

Daryl flashes back to Merle in their living room, laughing wildly about his big plans for the money he’d get after he fenced the stolen jewelry. “Know a guy who knows a guy, baby bro, an’ after I unload this shit, we’re home free. We can have anything. Be as rich as all those fucks across town.” Daryl knew even then it would never work, and even if it did, the money would be burned up in no time on drugs and hookers. Try to tell Merle that a plan was stupid, though, and he’d do it anyway and rope Daryl in along the way. And so he did. And here Daryl is, trying to sweep up the mess as usual.

“Don’t know who planned it,” Daryl says, a note of defiance that Merle definitely doesn’t deserve creeping into his words. “Was just supposed to stand there. Warn ‘em if you guys got close, that’s all.”

“We don’t want you, you know,” Deputy Grimes reiterates, the tone of his voice clearly set to try and coax Daryl into telling the truth. “We know you didn’t plan it. We just wanna know who did and where the jewelry’s at.”

“Don’t know,” Daryl repeats. 

“Daryl, look at me.” Daryl’s eyes snap up from his lap, instantly, on demand, as if they’d just been waiting for an excuse to look at the deputy again. He can feel himself going boneless as he stares across the table, tries for some resolve even as the look on the deputy’s face tells him that the other man knows he’s lying. “I want you to be able to go home tonight, but I can’t let you do that if you’re gonna keep up this same story. You and I both know who planned this thing, who’s responsible. You know where the stolen jewelry is. Just tell me the truth, sign a statement to that effect, and you’re outta here.”

Daryl tries not to shrink beneath that steady gaze, tries to control the twinges of lust and whatever else is eating him up inside right now. _Christ_ , he chides himself, _not a teenager. Ain’t like you never found somebody hot before_. But even as he thinks it, he knows it’s not just that the deputy is hot, which is an understatement in and of itself. There’s something about him that Daryl can’t put his finger on, something predatory that lends itself well to an aching need Daryl won’t readily admit to having, a need to be _wanted_. To be chased after and eaten alive by someone like this would be a pleasure; even to be spat back out again would be a privilege and a risk worth taking.

Still, Daryl is nothing if not loyal, and he can’t kowtow to someone who asks him to be otherwise. So he gathers every bit of strength he has left to stand against the onslaught of the way this damn cop makes him feel, and says, “Sorry, Deputy Grimes. Really just don’t know.”

The deputy shakes his head and stands up. “I’m sorry, too, Daryl. I’m hopeful a couple hours in a holding cell might make you change your mind. C’mon.”

Daryl stands too, treasuring the pressure of the hand on his arm. He amends his previous thought; this time, all he can think is _I’d go everywhere with you_.


	2. Chapter 2

Rick is watching the angel sleep, sprawled out on the bench in the holding cell, one arm curved toward the floor, the other pressed over his eyes to block out the glare of the setting sun coming in the windows. He shouldn’t really be standing here, drinking coffee and watching Daryl like he has no other work to be doing. It won’t look good for a potential promotion if he slacks on his paperwork while he waits for Daryl to come around. 

In a way, Rick can respect the fact that Daryl won’t give up his older brother. Family, after all, is everything. But the truth of the matter is, he can only hold Merle Dixon and his friends for an all-too-short amount of time unless Daryl gives him what he needs to put them away. Of course, “give me information to put your brother in jail” doesn’t really fly, and Rick thinks he should have known that. He needs to change tack. 

“You watchin’ me for any particular reason?” Daryl’s voice, heavy and rough with sleep breaks into Rick’s musing. He still has one arm lying across his face; how he knows Rick is there is beyond him. But then Daryl answers that for him, “I can hear you breathing. Mind ain’t changed, y’know. Don’t know anything.” He sits up slowly, lets one leg fall to the cement floor, the other bent up so his folded arms can rest on his knee. Rick lets his eyes trace the curve of Daryl’s body like this before he smiles a lazy, half smile at him.

“Well, shit,” Rick says, unable to stop himself. “I mean, I really thought I had you, Dixon. Couple hours in here, waking up to my pretty face… figured you’d be singin’ by now.” He smirks at the way Daryl looks away from him, and tries not to think about the way he’d actually _like_ to wake up to Daryl. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with him? Why can’t he stop this? He runs into Daryl’s type every day - admittedly, it’s usually women racking up the accessory charges for refusing to talk about their drug dealing, thieving boyfriends - but suddenly, Rick wants to play this game with him. He wants to tease the information out of him because it feeds the desperately hungry thing inside of him that is almost _trembling_ with need.

“Deputy -” Daryl begins.

Rick cuts him off. “Rick.”

Instead of easing off, Rick steers into the skid. He pushes off the wall he’s been leaning on opposite the cell and steps close to the bars, coffee-free hand curling around one, sliding slowly up and down, just once, in a highly inappropriate imitation of something far more vulgar. Daryl just stares, mouth hanging open a little, and Rick licks his lips, smiles at him.

“I should think you’d wanna be outta there, Daryl. Nothin’ in _there_ for you.” 

And without another word, Rick turns to go back to his desk, feeling wired and smug and satisfied that if nothing else, he’s made one hell of an impression.

#

Daryl is staring at the spot Deputy Grimes - Rick - just vacated. It’s empty space now, but Daryl can still see him. He’s playing it over and over in his mind, convinced he might have made it up, convinced there’s no goddamn way in any version of hell or purgatory that the deputy just fucking came on to him. He’d pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming, but he’s already keenly aware of how his jeans suddenly feel a little too tight - _that’s_ not a dream. 

Daryl swallows, suddenly dying for a cigarette, something to sate the craving that’s building up in him right now. Rick didn’t give him nearly enough; a mere appetiser when Daryl wants to gorge himself. Still, it was enough kindle to the fire, and it’s burning twice as bright, twice as high now. Daryl moves to sit up straight, slides his jacket off and folds it, placing it carefully over his lap. He can see the camera just outside the cell and he doesn’t need a room full of cops sitting around laughing at his… problem. He’s sure though, that Rick is watching still, smiling that predatory smile of his, and he tries not to feel like a caged animal. 

True, he’d wanted this, had practically asked for it with his denials, but if Rick really is circling him, Daryl wishes it were in here with him. He’s aware, somewhere deep down past the lust, that Rick is probably playing him. That he’s noticed Daryl both unable to look and unable to keep his eyes away in equal measure. That he wants to make Daryl drop his guard so he’ll give him what he wants. But, it’s also the south, and while it may be 2015, recently divorced, presumably straight macho tough-guy cops don’t just flirt with men, certainly not men like him, even for information. Not here. There’s gotta be something there. Maybe.

So Daryl is torn. Because loyalty is what it means to be a Dixon. You fight for your family or you go to hell knowing you betrayed them. Half of Daryl’s mind - and body - is screaming out a battle cry that sounds a lot like a promise to go straight to hell as long as it’s with Rick. This same half is tired of taking the fall, is wondering if Merle is in an interview room right now, denying any knowledge of Daryl’s involvement the way Daryl is doing for him. He’s almost certain that they’re using him against Merle and the others.

The other half of him is yelling at him to stick to his story. Telling him that it would be nothing to spend some time in jail and be welcomed home a hero for his sacrifice. Telling him that if he did give up Merle and his friends, they would absolutely _end_ him the moment they got out. He’s stuck now, between the side of him that is the same old Daryl, trustworthy brother to the end, and the side of him that says fuck it all, he’d give it all up for even one night in Rick’s bed. 

It’s another long hour before someone comes to get him to bring him back to the interview room. By then, Daryl has agonised enough, and thinks he has an answer.

#

Rick stops lounging in his chair, sits up straight when they deliver Daryl to the interview room. The second he steps in and the door shuts behind him, the air between them seems to thicken. The angel - and Rick really can’t stop calling him that - takes his seat across from Rick.

“I wanted to give you some more time to think after our conversation.” Rick’s voice draws Daryl’s eyes to him, and Daryl gives him a hard look, something behind it that Rick can’t place. “Do you wanna tell me what happened now?”

Daryl is silent for a long time, hands on the table twisting a little, a show of anxious energy that Rick can almost taste. “I… remembered somethin’,” he says, voice strained with apprehension. “After our conversation.”

“Glad I could help you to remember,” Rick says evenly, and Daryl narrows his eyes at him like a cat. Rick bites back a tiny smile, thinking of Daryl on the camera after he’d left the holding cell, shifting uncomfortably and staring after him. He shakes it off as best he can when Daryl starts to speak.

“Merle Dixon, my… my brother. He’s been in an’ outta jail more times’n I can count. He ain’t really stupid, but he ain’t ever gonna learn either. He planned this. He an’ that fuckin’ junkie Drew and Drew’s brother Mark. An’ Mark’s friend Lewis. They knocked off that jewelry place and got me to watch for ‘em. They got the jewelry stashed at Mark’s.” Daryl stops talking for a moment, looks a little pensive and forlorn. When he’d come in, he’d looked certain, but now he looks like he’s crumbling. “M’sorry, alright? Wasn’t even gonna go but he’s my _brother_. What was I supposed to do?”

A tiny part of Rick wants to give a whoop of victory for closing the case after so little time, but he can’t bring himself to be proud when Daryl is looking despondent now, like ratting out his brother was the worst decision of his life. Rick immediately feels like a jerk, wants to see the angel looking at him again like before.

“Trust me,” Rick tries to reassure him. This hunger inside him is clawing at the pit of his belly, begging him to make Daryl feel better. “You did the right thing. Your brother’s gotta get his shit together and it’s no help to him or you when he destroys himself every time he’s on the outside. You gotta keep yourself outta trouble. The fact that you have been up ‘til now is on your side, okay? So you just sign a statement swearing to what you just told me and you can go on your way.”

“And my brother?” Daryl asks, still looking miserably at Rick.

“He and his friends will be charged and see a judge. I’ll put in a word for some leniency, but to tell you the truth, it doesn’t look that great for any of ‘em.” Rick fights the urge to reach across the table and touch Daryl’s hand. “Listen, I know it’s not easy when it’s family but I promise he’s gonna be better off for it in the end. So are you.”

Rick’s shift winds to a close as Daryl writes his statement, signs it, and pushes it across the table to Rick. He stands quickly, looks at Rick again with something Rick can’t place, and mutters, “Am I good to leave?”

“Yeah,” Rick says. “Yeah, go ahead.” Rick’s hands shake just a little as he goes, and everything slots into place for him as he watches Daryl walk away. Daryl did the right thing, and now Rick has an unspoken promise to keep.


	3. Chapter 3

Daryl walks quickly away from the station, every bit of him feeling wrong. He wants to go back in, demand to see Merle and apologise, or take back his statement, but it’s too late for that. He already sold him out and all it took was bedroom eyes and less than six hours. Even when he knows logically that it’s the right thing to have done, he still feels his heart racing the way it always does when stress is high. And worse, maybe, than his betrayal, is that he did it for something he can’t have. _A better life_ , he’d told himself as he sat and waited in the holding cell after Rick had gone. _Control of things without Merle around tellin’ me what’s what and maybe… maybe Rick_.

How stupid could he be? Rick is not only so far out of the realm of possibility as to be on a different planet entirely, but he’s also the same as every other man who’s ever sung Daryl a pretty song and then destroyed him. As fucking unbelievable as he is, as… _necessary_ as he immediately felt to Daryl’s existence, he will never be more than someone who got what he wanted and then walked away. And worse than _all_ of it, Daryl knows he will still go home and fall into bed, thinking of Rick, his own body alive and vibrating with exhilaration and betraying him as if he’s still sitting there in that cell under Rick’s intense stare. 

Daryl is so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t even hear the car pulling up to the sidewalk until it’s right beside him. “Want a ride home, Daryl?” There’s that voice again, saying Daryl’s name like it’s the most important word in the world. 

He stops walking, doesn’t look at Rick. “Already had a ride in that today, so no.” He grunts out a _thanks_ as an afterthought. He keeps walking, but Rick won’t give up, police cruiser slowly rolling alongside him until Daryl stops again. This time, he does turn to look, determined to be able to meet Rick’s eyes without feeling like his whole fucking world is in them. This, of course, is an instant failure.

“What?” he says, but it’s not as harsh as he meant to make it. “Got what you wanted already, Deputy. Leave me alone.”

Rick makes an impatient noise. “Yeah, I got what I wanted. Didn’t get what I needed, though.”

Daryl tries to make his feet move, but it’s like they’re cemented to the sidewalk, and even when he’s trying to keep his goddamn mouth shut, he can already hear the words, “What d’you need?” coming out of his mouth. 

Rick smiles at him, and it’s still animalistic, greedy… lustful. “You.”

#

Daryl mumbles something that sounds like a string of curse words, and his face is a mess of emotion. It takes him a minute, but then he grinds out between his teeth, “Don’t fuck me around, Rick.”

Rick is mentally kicking himself now. He keeps fucking this up. He shouldn’t have done what he did earlier, shouldn’t have flirted, shouldn’t have teased. It helped get the information out of Daryl, sure, but now Daryl thinks he doesn’t actually mean it, that it was used as a means to an end and isn’t real, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Somewhere down the line, Rick knows he’ll look back and wonder what he was thinking at all, letting himself do this. But then, it’s not really a choice. He saw the angel and wanted beyond reason, needed without rationale. He can’t put the brakes on, can’t slow down even if he wanted to. If there was ever a man made for fast and intense, it’s Rick; if ever a man was made to enjoy that kind of behaviour, it’s Daryl.

Rick puts the car in park and gets out, striding quickly around to where Daryl is standing. Daryl doesn’t even have time to say anything before Rick is there, grabbing at the front of his jacket, pulling him so close that there’s barely an inch of space left between them. “I’m not fuckin’ you around.” And then he’s kissing Daryl and the dam holding back all the tension is breaking. It’s all happening slow and fast at the same time; every heavy breath is both a second and an hour long, every touch of Daryl’s hand moving along Rick’s back lasts both a moment and a day. Rick pulls back, teeth tugging gently at Daryl’s bottom lip. Breathlessly, he whispers, “Does it seem like I am?”

Daryl shakes his head. “No,” he says. And then, unexpectedly, more vulnerable than Rick would ever have imagined someone like Daryl could sound, he mumbles, “Please don’t.”

“I won’t,” Rick says, and means it. “Fuck, don’t know what it is about you but I gotta have you.”

“You just got divorced?” It’s a question, but it comes out like a statement, like Daryl’s already guessed. 

“Yeah.”

“You sure I ain’t a rebound?”

Rick nods, still so close to Daryl that his head nudges Daryl’s when he does. “Look, I’m finding I’m a lot different these days than I was before. I know what I’m after now and I know I just met you but everything about you is making me pretty goddamn sure it’s you.” Daryl makes a little noise in the back of his throat, maybe of disbelief. “I am sorry if I made you feel like I was using you. But I been thinkin’ about it all day. How you stopped me in my tracks. You are just… somethin’ else, Daryl Dixon, and I can’t get how badly I need you off my mind.”

Daryl just looks at him for another long moment, then pulls away. “Don’t wanna go home yet,” he says.

“Oh,” Rick says, “okay.” He tries not to sound disappointed, but then the corner of Daryl’s mouth turns up in a small smile.

“Didn’t say I don’t wanna go home with you.”

#

Daryl is antsy all the way to Rick’s place, hands playing with a loose thread on the sleeve of his jacket just so he has something to do that isn’t just staring at Rick, that isn’t going mad with the energy of the day, with the anticipation of what’s coming. And Daryl knows what’s coming (preferably, it will be both of them). He also knows it’s probably way too fast, too soon, too doomed, but he can’t stop now. He doesn’t want to. It feels like heading into the wolf’s den, all of this, not knowing if he’ll come back out intact, but he’s happy to go. This morning, he’d never even heard the name Rick Grimes, and now he’s going home with him and hoping for the best.

Daryl doesn’t quite know what he’s expecting from Rick’s apartment, but it isn’t what he sees when Rick lets him in. It’s almost bare, populated sparsely with mismatched furniture, a box or four lying around the kitchen with half of Rick’s dishes still inside them. Daryl doesn’t know if all divorced people live like this, unsettled and with no predictability, but it stands in contrast to Rick’s attitude about the place. His living space makes it look like he’s a man always ready to leave, but when Rick takes off his shoes, starts unbuttoning his uniform, it couldn’t be clearer that he’s comfortable here, that this feels like home to him. 

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess. Wasn’t really planning for company when I left this morning.” Daryl just nods and swallows hard; Rick talking about this morning is an even more forceful reminder that they’ve just met. That between Rick’s coffee breaks is when he found this evening’s… date? This doesn’t feel like a date, but Daryl doesn’t want to call it a hookup, either, because it seems to matter more than that. Even if it’s only one night, it will still be something better than anything Daryl’s ever had. Rick is someone who wants him there, who let him in with no prompting and no complaint, who _asked_ for him. That, more than anything, is what amazes Daryl. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Rick asks. “It’s been a long day, I know you could use one.”

“Got any bourbon?” Daryl barely hides the hopeful note in his voice.

Rick smiles, moves toward a cupboard, and pulls out a bottle. “My kind of man.” He opens the bottle, finds a couple of glasses, and brings one to Daryl a moment later. He puts a hand on his arm. “You’re allowed more than two steps past the door, you know.”

Daryl accepts the glass and follows Rick toward the couch. They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments before Rick says, “I got this in the divorce.” He smirks a little bitterly, spreading a hand across the soft cushions. “I got half of everything, including my son. Maybe a little less than half.”

Daryl raises an eyebrow. “You have a kid?”

Rick looks up at him, and his eyes widen a little as if he didn’t mean to say what he did. “I… ah, yeah. Sorry if me talking about all of that… ruins the mood.” He winces but Daryl shakes his head. 

“No,” Daryl says firmly. “Talk about whatever you want. I just turned snitch against my brother and you’re a divorced dad. Kinda nice to know we’re both human.”

“Did you think I wasn’t?” Rick asks, looking bemused. 

Daryl takes a swallow of his drink, holds his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart. 

“Little bit,” he admits. 

Rick is almost an anomaly. On the one hand, it’s true - he’s alarmingly human, appearing on the outside to be every inch the man’s man. But there’s something else inside, too, something Daryl spotted the second Rick was crossing that street toward him. And it feels as though Rick has been holding it back all day, and it’s been slipping through the cracks, like at the holding cell. Daryl felt the heat coming off him then, and possibly later interpreted it as a play in which Rick was giving a winning performance. But here, in Rick’s apartment, with Rick at ease but the walls screaming out his brand new _un_ easiness at being on his own, Daryl can tell it’s just two halves of the same man. Warring inside, maybe, to find a balance in which Rick can be both the safe bet _and_ the aggressive creature.

Rick sets down his glass on the coffee table, plucks Daryl’s empty one from his hand and places it beside his. Then, without warning, he reaches out and pulls Daryl toward him, leaning back against the arm of the couch and bringing Daryl down on top of him. Daryl catches his breath when he’s there, so close to Rick again that he can feel every breath ghosting along his lips. “Tell me, Daryl. Do I feel human?” Rick reaches for one of Daryl’s hands, lays it on his chest, across his heart. Daryl can feel it beating beneath his fingertips, fast and hard, Rick’s breathing hitching in his throat when Daryl leans even closer and locks eyes with him.

“Clearly,” he murmurs, and gets lost in Rick’s mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

Kissing Daryl is almost life-threatening. Rick hasn’t had much to drink, but he’s certainly drunk now on the taste of Daryl’s lips, his tongue, on the way Daryl has somehow managed to get a hand between them and tug Rick’s undershirt out of his uniform. His hand is roaming across Rick’s chest and even that is exquisite, to die for. 

It’s a long time before Rick manages to get Daryl down the short hallway and into his bedroom. A ten second walk that takes nearly ten minutes, because they keep stopping to kiss, to shed clothing, to touch one another. Rick doesn’t want to stop touching the angel, _his _angel. He only pauses when they finally make it to the room and Daryl lies down in his bed like it’s his own, spreads out on soft sheets and curls his fingers in the thick, plush comforter.__

__Daryl is fucking _stunning_ like this, naked and waiting for Rick to make his next move, a perfect mix of half-shy and come-get-me eyes. Rick does his best not to all-out pounce, choosing instead to settle between Daryl’s thighs, running his fingers over them until Daryl shivers. Then he bends over him, presses his mouth against Daryl’s hip, kissing, licking, biting._ _

__“Christ, just... _please_.” Daryl’s voice is heavy on the gravel, all deep with lust and desperate desire. It’s turning Rick on faster than a fucking lightswitch, and he responds by continuing to kiss along his hip, down his thigh, until he’s dragging his tongue across Daryl’s balls and then up his cock all the way to the head. He closes his mouth around him, takes Daryl deep to the back of his throat until Daryl is shuddering, his fingers finding Rick’s hair and gently tugging to urge him on. _ _

__It’s been a damn long time since anything like this, but Rick hasn’t forgotten how. He’d joke with Daryl about how he used to be good at this if he didn’t presently have a mouthful of him. And anyway, he’d wager that Daryl already knows he’s half decent at it, considering the loud moans of Rick’s name, the half-gasped pleas not to stop. And Rick doesn’t intend to stop; he never wants to stop any of this._ _

____

#

Daryl can feel his eyes rolling back and his toes curling as Rick’s mouth moves along his dick, each swipe of his tongue across the slit coming pretty close to Daryl’s best idea of paradise. He can’t stop his hips from bucking upward; if he’d had any control over himself, he’s lost it by now. He can no more prevent it than he can prevent the litany of ‘yes’ pouring out of his mouth, interposed with Rick’s name.

Not that long ago, he’d told Rick that he was glad he'd found out he was human. He still does, but there’s the animal there now, too, so close to coming out in the way that Rick touches him and even in the look in his eyes. And god, does Daryl want it. It’s familiar to be in a bed, to be on his back with someone above him, but this is different somehow. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this much of an ache to be wanted, and Rick is both driving that ache and satisfying it.

Daryl is seeing stars, and the pleasant warmth spreading all up and down his spine is a reminder that if he doesn’t stop Rick, this’ll be over before it begins. He stutters out a warning in a language he hopes is English and not just gibberish, but when Rick pulls away, he misses the feeling of him instantly. 

Rick positions himself so that he’s straddling Daryl’s thighs, and Daryl shudders at every point of contact between the two of them, makes a noise he didn’t know he could make when he feels Rick’s cock, already hard, against his own. Rick leans in to kiss him and Daryl tastes a heady mix of himself and the bourbon on Rick’s tongue. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” Rick says in a voice measured with awe. 

“Pretty sure,” Daryl mumbles, still trying to get his breath back, “that I just found god in that mouth you got on you, so it ain’t me that’s incredible.”

Rick plainly tries to keep a straight face. “Glad I could help you have your come-to-Jesus moment in your hour of need.” 

Then they’re both laughing, something Daryl hasn’t done in way too long, and Rick’s kissing his neck even then. Daryl is realising in between hiccuped hysterics and the insistent pressure of Rick’s lips on him, that everything that’s happened today was fated. Although he’s not sure he _really_ believes in all that, there’s no other reason he could be here now after the rollercoaster that was this day. He’s here because something outside of his control put Rick on that street, walking toward him, catching Daryl off guard with his readiness to be _something_ to Daryl when only moments before he hadn’t even known Rick existed. He's here because of Rick's continued persistence even when Daryl was convinced he would be the same as everyone else.

And here they are now, warm skin on warm skin, Rick’s hand blindly searching toward the bedside table even as he sucks what Daryl knows will become a bruise into his neck. Daryl pushes Rick’s hand away, reaches over and slides open the drawer of the table himself. When he presses the little foil packet and the bottle into Rick’s hand, he pauses, instinctively moves to roll over. Rick pulls away, pushes against his shoulder to stop him.

“What you doin’?” he asks.

Daryl hears the tremor in his voice when he says, “Was just gonna… usually people don’t like it when I’m…”

But Rick shakes his head, blessedly saving Daryl from saying anymore. “I wanna look at you.”

#

Rick is starting to understand Daryl better now. In the instant he moves to turn over, to turn away from Rick like it’s built into him to do it… that’s when Rick realises what this is. That’s when he begins to grasp the fact that Daryl isn’t used to being treated like an equal in this. It makes Rick angry - how anybody could _not_ want to look at Daryl, even for a moment - and more determined to make Daryl get that this is really what he wants.

“I wanna look at you,” Rick says again, and moves so he’s back between Daryl’s legs, so they’re wrapped around his waist. He leans in, presses his lips against Daryl’s ear, and whispers, “I wanna fuck you until you can’t breathe right, until you can’t sit down without rememberin’ me, and I wanna look at that gorgeous face of yours the whole damn time.”

Daryl makes a surprised noise, eyes going wide when Rick pulls back to glance down at him with a devilish grin. He picks up the bottle he set aside, pops the top on it and pours warm liquid across his fingers, sitting back on his heels and reaching down to press one finger just _barely_ into Daryl. Daryl’s mouth falls open, his breathing slows to an almost stop, his eyes flutter closed. And then, before Rick can even ask for permission, Daryl moans out a sinful, “ _Please_.”

Rick is far too happy to oblige, pushing one finger all the way in while Daryl’s hands grip the sheets and he pushes back. It isn’t long before he’s asking, practically begging for a second, and Rick presses the second one inside him, stretching him open while Daryl tries to get more, is almost riding his hand. Rick gets his free hand around his own cock for just a little bit of friction because the sight of Daryl losing it from only this is too much. 

“Oh my god, I really, _really_ need to be in you, Daryl, holy fuck…” Rick trails off, pulls his fingers free and fumbles in an effort to get the condom on, hardly taking his eyes off Daryl who is glaring at Rick for stopping. 

Rick leans forward finally, after pausing only briefly to spread more lube over himself, and presses the tip of his cock against Daryl’s entrance. He looks up at Daryl, meets his eyes for the okay, and pushes forward slow but steady. Daryl’s mouth opens in a soundless cry until Rick is all the way in, and then he makes a noise that comes from somewhere deep, as deep as Rick is. 

Rick stops then, feels goosebumps spread over his whole body, holds onto Daryl’s hips while he tries desperately not to come already. It’s not easy when Daryl’s tight as hell around him, feels better than Rick thinks anything has ever felt in his life. “Jesus fuck, you’re gonna kill me, Daryl, feels so _good_ …”

“Fuck me,” Daryl demands, back arching away from the bed, thighs shaking as he closes his legs back around Rick’s waist.

Rick’s rhythm is unsteady from the moment he starts to move in Daryl, each hard, driving motion accompanied with the shudder of his hips. Daryl reaches his hands up, grabs at the metal bars of the headboard and uses them to push himself back to meet Rick’s every thrust. 

The sight of him coming alive like this, letting the worry etched on his face slip away to be replaced by pleasure is like a drug to Rick. “This is not gonna last,” he gasps, because it isn’t, it’s gonna be over soon, because Rick can’t hold back when Daryl is doing this, practically topping from the bottom, moaning his name and begging for _more, Rick, please, harder_ …

“Don’t care,” Daryl gasps, “don’t fuckin’ care, just don’t stop…”

#

Daryl thinks he might black out. It’s never been like this before, he’s never felt every cell in his body on fire this way… never felt the urgency to meet someone’s every movement with action of his own. But then Rick was inside him, just like that, and it’s fucking revolutionary, and Daryl doesn’t care how long it lasts because even this is enough.

He can feel the pressure building right at the base of his spine, in his stomach, flooding every inch of him until all he can think is _Rick, Rick, Rick_ … The moans are torn from his throat every time Rick brushes against his prostate, sounding more rough by the moment. 

Rick leans into him, captures his mouth in a kiss, all tongue and then his teeth biting at Daryl’s lip again, like he does, and Daryl tightens himself around Rick until Rick is moaning in his mouth. “Wanna do this every day,” Rick growls between heated kisses. “Wanna spend everyday with you here. Want you to fuck me, too, Daryl, fuck me ‘til I can’t live without it, ‘til I’m fucking myself when you’re not here just so I still feel you…”

Daryl almost loses it at that, already so close to coming, can feel his legs shaking when Rick goes at it hard, abandons any semblance of rhythm he had left, all while letting out a stream of words so filthy, Daryl has to wonder somewhere in the haze of it all if Rick doubles as a pornstar. 

“Way you kiss,” Rick hisses out, “bet your tongue would feel so fuckin’ good in me, Daryl, want you to do that, want you to do whatever you want to me, want my neighbours to hear me screaming your name, know exactly what you’re doing to me…”

It’s _that_ that does it, that catches Daryl off guard, that half-moaned, implied promise of permanence that makes him come just like that between them, Rick’s hand around him, so hard he can’t fucking think straight. He can barely breathe, desperately sucks air back into his lungs as he rides waves of unbelievable bliss, so sweet it almost hurts, every bit of his body aching with a sudden relaxing, heavy sedation.

Rick’s nails dig into his skin, leave scratches as he pants Daryl’s name against his cheek, falls against him, comes so hard he _trembles_ like a goddamn leaf. They lie there together, Rick still in him, still on top of him, head against Daryl's chest with his arm curled across Rick's back in something even Daryl recognises as a possessive move. 

It’s a long, long time before Rick stops panting and manages to form words, still not bothering to move. But Daryl doesn’t care. “I was right,” Rick says, voice full of exhaustion and a smile. “You are incredible.”

“That mean you’re not makin’ me leave now?”

Rick lifts his head just enough to look Daryl in the eye. "Course I'm not gonna make you leave. Don't want you to leave this bed ever.” He lays his head back on Daryl’s chest, pressing a kiss there. Then he huffs out a laugh and adds, “Only time I'd kick you outta bed would be to fuck you on the floor."

Daryl laughs, holds Rick tighter to him, content to just lie there with him as long as possible. He loses track of the time he spends doing exactly that.


	5. Chapter 5

The late night, post-sex shower they’d taken had been a good idea, because when Rick wakes up, he’s running late for an early shift and doesn’t have much time for anything but getting dressed and a quick cup of coffee. He’s in the middle of buttoning up his uniform shirt (gathered from the living room floor along with his pants) when Daryl stirs in the bed behind him, stretching out across the space, eyes opening when his hand hits the empty spot where Rick was. Rick regrets not being able to really wake up with him, to just lie there and enjoy the morning.

“Aw, shit,” Daryl mutters. “You gotta work, don’t you?”

Rick turns around, offering an apologetic and somewhat sheepish look. “I’m sorry, I really wish I didn’t have to.” 

Rick moves back toward the bed for his watch on the bedside table, and Daryl, more at ease and comfortable now than last night, reaches out, hooks a finger through one of his belt loops, and yanks him down onto the bed. Despite his impending lateness, Rick grins, crawls over so he’s sitting on Daryl’s thighs, leans down for a kiss. 

“You’re gonna make me late,” Rick says and Daryl shrugs. 

“Tell ‘em you were out kickin’ criminal ass… or is it licking criminal ass? Get those confused.”

Rick laughs, pressing kisses along Daryl’s jaw. “You’re not a criminal,” he says, “but I’ll still lick your ass if you want.”

Daryl’s fingers slide between them, tug at Rick’s belt. “Do want it,” he says, but Rick pulls his hands away reluctantly.

“Gonna have to wait, angel. Sorry.”

“Angel?” Daryl murmurs, raising an eyebrow.

Rick shrugs. “What I been calling you in my head since yesterday.”

Daryl smirks. “Angelic ain’t gonna last long with you lookin’ like that. I might be developin’ a thing for that uniform.”

Rick feigns offence. “Only the uniform?”

“Mm,” Daryl says, “guess the man inside it is pretty damn good, too.”

“You _guess_?” Rick sighs, enjoying the banter. “See how it is, Dixon. I take you home, give you my best bourbon -”

“Shove your dick up me,” Daryl interjects.

“Was getting to that.” He leans in close, nose to nose with Daryl. “Shove my dick _so deep_ in you, you were telling the whole block my name…”

“Oh, now you’re just exaggeratin’ things.”

Rick presses a soft, warm kiss against Daryl’s lips. “Not how I remember it,” he whispers with a chuckle. Another kiss, and Rick has sacrificed all his coffee time for Daryl, doesn’t mind a bit. “You can stay if you want until you have to go to work. Make yourself at home. But I know that shop you work at is only three blocks away so you better have that gorgeous face and ass of yours back here tonight.”

Daryl cringes. “I don’t wanna come back here covered in grease,” he says. “I’ll go home first and change and then come back. If you want.”

Rick is just starting to get up when he hears those words and leans back down over Daryl, looks him straight in the eye so he can’t miss what he’s about to say. “Of course I want you to. Daryl, this was never just gonna be a one night thing for me. It doesn’t seem like you want it to be either, and I really don’t, so of course I want you back. Hell, if I could just stay here with you right now and not move the rest of the week, I’d be happy. So please, please come back.”

#

Daryl feels Rick’s absence like a punch to the gut the second he leaves. He doesn’t know what gave him the courage to pull Rick back into the bed this morning, to play around with him like they’ve known each other years, like they’ve been doing this for years. But he feels good here, curled up in Rick’s sheets, face buried against his pillows that smell like sex and Rick’s cologne. Here, the life he dreamed up yesterday before he made his decision to tell the truth about Merle and the others, seems actually possible.

Being here makes him not want to go home to the dirty, tiny house he shares with Merle. It’s still his home, has been four walls and a roof when he needed it most, but with Merle gone, he doesn’t feel the same need to stay. There have been times when Merle would leave for more than a week at a time, come back too high and too angry for Daryl to deal with reasonably. And now that he’s going back to jail, for the millionth time, and likely for a much longer period than ever before… Daryl imagines this could be his home.

Rick, for all the ways Daryl thinks he is superior, does not act it. He seems to really _want_ Daryl to be there. He seems to be the key to Daryl’s new start. And it does feel like one. Last night feels like the beginning of something better. And so until he goes to work, Daryl tries it on for size, walking through Rick’s apartment naked, snagging some of the coffee Rick had made but hadn’t had time to drink. Looking at Rick’s books on the shelf in the livingroom, drinking out of one of his mugs, making himself at home just like Rick told him to… it feels _right_. And Daryl hasn’t known right in way too long.

#

Rick has been driving around aimlessly half his shift under the pretense of patrolling. He doesn’t think he can or should be faulted for it because there’s probably nobody in the universe who could focus on anything after spending a night with the likes of Daryl Dixon. Not that there is the likes of Daryl Dixon… there’s only Daryl, one of a kind and something distinct, and he’s Rick’s. Well, sort of. Rick isn’t sure he’s allowed to lay any kind of claim to Daryl’s heart yet, even if Daryl is already putting his fingerprints all over Rick’s.

In any case, today the dirty streets look clean. The grey skies that are promising rain still look blue to Rick. He lets a couple of traffic stops go with warnings because he’s feeling so fantastic, and when he rolls through the drive-thru of the best coffee shop in town, he pays for the person behind him, too. Something about Daryl, about spending time with him, about being with him, having a kind of connection he never shared with Lori… it improves his mood, makes him feel generous and happy.

Truthfully, Daryl is most of the things on his mind today, so it doesn’t totally surprise him when instead of going to lunch, he finds himself pulling up outside the auto repair shop Daryl works at without intending to go there. Daryl isn’t in the system, has kept his nose clean as a whistle in comparison to his brother throughout the years. But when Rick looked at Merle’s file yesterday, Daryl was listed as his emergency contact, complete with the name of his workplace and cell phone number. The information has clearly been burning a hole in his proverbial pocket.

Daryl is the only one around when Rick arrives. The sign on the door to the lobby and waiting area of the shop says _gone to lunch, be back soon_ , but Daryl is still in the garage, working. He only turns around when he hears Rick’s car door slam.

Daryl lifts one grease covered hand in greeting as Rick approaches and stops a few feet away. “Rick. What you doin’ here?”

Rick shifts a little awkwardly from one foot to the other, rubs a hand across the back of his head and tries for casual.

“Well, I patrol this area,” he says, flashing Daryl what he hopes is a winning smile. “Just thought I’d stop and say hi.”

Daryl makes a small _hmph_ noise and raises an eyebrow at Rick. “Really? Never see cops around here.”

Rick thinks fast. “Community improvement. Is a thing we’re trying for. Starting today.”

The corners of Daryl’s mouth twitch and Rick knows he’s not buying his excuse for just showing up.

“Mm,” Daryl says, amusement lighting up his eyes. “Wanna try that again with a little more conviction?”

Rick takes a cursory look around the garage, confirming nobody else is there. “Fuck it.” 

He closes the distance between himself and Daryl, and pulls him in for a kiss, all passion and heat. The hungry thing in Rick isn’t sated yet; fucking Daryl was hours and hours ago, and now, like after every high that wears off, Rick is desperate for more. The wrench in Daryl’s hand clatters to the cement floor as Rick grabs for his fingers, sparing no thought for the grease on them, lacing their hands together. The other hand pushes into Daryl’s hair, sweeping it away from his face while Rick greedily, urgently steals kiss after kiss and all of Daryl’s breath. Rick doesn’t actually remember the last time mere kissing could get him hard, but then again, Daryl is giving far more to him now than he’s ever gotten out of a kiss.

Daryl pulls back suddenly, panting, hand tightening around Rick’s. He drags him toward the door of the lobby and pulls him through it. Behind the lobby is a small, cramped office apparently belonging to Daryl’s boss, and that’s where he directs Rick. Daryl slams the door behind them, lets go of Rick’s hand, pushes him over toward the desk. Wiping his hands across his jeans, he steps behind it, starts rifling through one of the drawers, comes up with a handful of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Rick knows the surprise must show on his face, because Daryl grins. “He thinks none of us know what he does in here when his wife comes by. And his mistress.” Then he steps back toward Rick, and with a look in his eyes Rick hasn’t yet seen in them, he says, “Bend over the desk. Now.”

Rick shivers, loving the demanding tone Daryl’s voice has suddenly taken on. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t think Daryl had this in him. Not that he couldn’t actually be capable of it, but that he _wouldn’t_ do it. Rick has never loved being wrong so much in his entire life.

#

Daryl has typically relied on the somewhat broken confidence of one who has known insecurities to get him by in the past, but today that kind of thing won’t do. Right now, he has a new brand of courage. It has to be new, because _this_ is new; the command for Rick to bend over the desk was out of his mouth before he could stop it, only for him to realise that he didn’t _want_ to stop it. This is what he wants, Rick, just like this, fast and needy, complete with the nagging worry of being caught. All of it is driving arousal through Daryl’s veins with all the swiftness of an anaesthetic, only with the opposite effect. He is no sedate thing now, but alive with the electricity in the room. God, does he want a lightning strike.

Rick is quick to obey, and his mind is clearly in the right place, because he’s unbuckling his belt, getting his pants open so fast that it’s almost a blur. And then he’s bent across Daryl’s boss’s desk, up on his elbows and glancing behind at Daryl, looking at him intently with those eyes as if to say, _What you waiting for? The Holy Spirit to move you?_ Daryl steps close, pauses a moment to run one hand across Rick’s ass, to lift it and bring it down half-hard, half-gentle in a stinging imitation of a spank. Rick’s hips jerk forward and he gasps.

“Jesus _Christ_!”

“Been called worse things,” Daryl murmurs, pushing Rick’s shirt up further, not wanting to get lube on his uniform. A more devilish part of him almost wants to, wants to send Rick back to the station, clothes and hair a mess, so they can all know that Deputy Rick Grimes got his ass owned, got fucked so good that he made his whole body an advertisement for it.

Daryl knows he doesn’t have a lot of time, but so what if the guys know what he’s doing in here? The boss is gone for the day, and none of the others would say a word. Even if they did come back, the most Daryl would have to live down is the cop car parked next to the garage, Rick leaving… but it would be well worth it. Most things would be worth this. So he takes the time, even if he doesn’t have it. He steps forward and presses the bottle of lube into Rick’s hand. “C’mon, Deputy. Why don’t you open yourself up for me?”

Rick’s mouth opens, the surprise evident, but again, he’s quick to take Daryl up on the suggestion. Daryl knows that Rick is thinking he’s a changed man, but Daryl thinks maybe it’s only been buried, way down deep. And in that way, sure, he is changed, because Rick brings this out of him, amplifies his need to be wanted, to be asked after, to be chased. And not only that, but he brings out the animal in Daryl, too, because if there’s one thing Daryl’s learned in life, it’s that now and then, the prey can turn around and bite the predator, become the predator itself. 

Maybe it was walking around Rick’s apartment this morning like it was his own. It felt like home, and so does this, this instant connection he’s forged with Rick. It’s happening so fast but it’s good that it’s like this, that it feels like he’s known Rick for years, like all of this is something they do all the time. Because when it feels that comfortable, then _this_ feels comfortable. Daryl is stepping out of shadows he’s been hiding in for a damn long time, stepping into the fire that is Rick’s light, becoming warm, burning up for him. And fuck, if it isn’t the most profoundly perfect kind of consumption.

Rick’s gasping brings Daryl back to the present moment as he presses one finger into himself, then two, one hand gripping the edge of the desk like it’s his only lifeline. Daryl lets out a long, low whistle, so hard already and dying to be in Rick. “Fuck, that’s… fucking _perfect_ , Rick, you have no idea…”

But Rick isn’t listening, eyes shut tight, lips parting on moan after moan. “Been a long time,” he says, voice shaking with his effort. 

Daryl steps closer, reaches one hand around to stroke slowly over Rick’s cock. “Guess I best show you what you been missin’, then.”

Rick’s response to that is to remove his fingers, bend further over the desk, and moan out, “ _Please_ ,” in a voice absolutely saturated in want. 

Daryl works his jeans open with one hand, grabbing the condom with the other and tearing it open with his teeth. He doesn’t bother to push his jeans past his thighs, makes easy work of both the condom and the bottle of lube that Rick passes back to him. Somewhere in the middle of the hazy feeling in Daryl’s head, he’s in Rick so fast and so hard that Rick makes an almost inhuman noise. Daryl doesn’t even remember the moment it happens, just that he’s standing there one second, fucking Rick the next.

And Rick? Rick is _loving it_ , knuckles white while he grips the desk, arches his back, rolls his hips. Daryl can feel his eyes practically crossing with the intensity of the movement, the muscles in his stomach already contracting with the heavy, warm, soporific feeling he typically associates with orgasm. But he’s not there yet, not even close, and he drapes himself across Rick’s back, teeth catching against his shoulder until Rick cries out. 

“Gonna take you _apart_ , Rick,” Daryl tells him, and Rick, already tight as hell, is clenching around him, an intoxicating sensation that is sure as shit gonna make Daryl lose his damn mind.

“You already are,” Rick manages to say, between wicked little sounds that could make even the most heartless person start to fall for him. It’s pretty clear now that Daryl doesn’t even stand a chance, that he’s already filled with a certain affection for Rick that he can’t stop from building up in him even if he wanted to.

#

Rick is losing himself in the sweet sting of Daryl’s teeth along his shoulder, the feeling of his hips slamming forward, Daryl lying across him and making him feverishly hot. Daryl’s got one hand on one of his hips, the other coming underneath him to roam his chest, pinch a nipple, slide down his stomach, stopping just above his cock. Rick makes an absolutely pitiful whining sound, one he’d be embarrassed about if this wasn’t so fucking good, if he cared at all how desperate he looks when Daryl is doing what he promised, tearing him to pieces.

It has been a long time since this, but it’s better now than Rick ever remembers it being. He thinks perhaps being married, especially to someone who wouldn’t have touched Rick’s ass (or any part of him by the end) with a ten foot pole even if he’d asked has been pretty limiting. He never did ask; that would have been a divorce-causing argument all on its own. But Rick has always liked this, always wanted it. And yet this is something different, being taken by Daryl like this. Daryl, who is not living in the shell Rick thought he was, merely hiding there on occasion until Rick asks him to step out. Rick intends to ask all the time now. His whole fucking life could be based around moments like these and he’d die happy.

Even last night, Rick could see the appreciation in Daryl’s eyes for the things he said and did, for just wanting him. He doesn’t know if Daryl hasn’t been wanted, or if it’s just that he thought Rick wouldn’t want him, but either way, the value to Daryl is apparent. And Rick might not want to admit it, has spent a long while _not_ admitting it to himself, but before now, he had fears about not being wanted again, too. Even long before the divorce, it was clear as day that Lori didn’t want or need him anymore. Rick’s gone a while wondering if he’d find it again. And then there was Daryl.

With Daryl’s hand wandering along his chest again, Rick wonders if he can feel the heavy pounding of his heart, wonders if Daryl will really consider the fact that it’s _him_ doing this to Rick. That Rick is going to pieces and Daryl is responsible. He pushes back against Daryl, reaches one hand back to close around Daryl’s hip, trying to pull him deeper because good god, he needs it.

“Fucking _harder_ , Daryl!”

Daryl doesn’t disappoint, slams forward into Rick so hard the desk moves with them, and Rick nearly loses it right then when Daryl’s hand finally curls around his dick and he’s hitting the right spot all at the same time.

“Hard enough for you?” Daryl asks, and there’s a touch of the devil in his voice.

Rick can’t find his voice to answer; every time he opens his mouth to try, all he can do is moan. He grinds backwards against Daryl, and Daryl is a man possessed, takes cues from Rick, starts talking, and his voice is deep, quiet, dirty in Rick’s ear.

“Could do this for hours,” he says on a gasp. “Just fuck you like this over and over. You gonna let me do that, Rick?” Rick can only nod; he’s gonna let Daryl do _whatever_ the fuck he wants to. There’s nothing Daryl could want that Rick wouldn’t. “Gonna send you back to work after this smelling like me. Let ‘em all know you’re mine from now on.”

Rick drops his head down to the desk at that, back arching, Daryl’s body bowed over his. “Yours,” is all he gets out before he’s coming, sudden and _hard_ , all over Daryl’s hand with a broken moan of intense satisfaction and relief. His chest feels tight and Daryl’s hand is still around him, still making Rick’s legs shake with the effort of standing up when all he wants to do is lie down and ride it out.

It’s not but half a moment and Daryl is coming too, his whole body going rigid and his hips thrusting one more time, hard into Rick before he stills and lets out a hoarse cry, the hand on Rick’s hip digging in fiercely enough to bruise, and Rick hopes it does. The only sound in the room then is breathing, fast and heavy like they’ve just run a marathon. Daryl pulls out of Rick slow and unsteady, and Rick feels the loss immediately, feels suddenly way too empty. 

It’s a long, long minute before Rick can stand up straight and turn around to look at Daryl. And his knees almost give out the second he does, because Daryl is standing there, licking and sucking his fingers clean of Rick and the sight does something to him that feels a little bit like death and life all at once.

Rick can’t even think, just stands there watching until Daryl is done and smiles at him in a (literal) cat-that-got-the-cream way that makes Rick shiver. Daryl glances around the office, spots a roll of paper towels lying atop a file cabinet and cleans himself up first before he hands it to Rick to do the same. “Sorry,” he says with a small grin, “s’all we got.”

Rick smirks, accepting them, doing his best to make himself look half presentable, but he knows, just like Daryl said, that he’s still gonna smell like him, go back to work looking like he’s still got Daryl wrapped around him. “It’s okay. Just have to have a shower later. With you. So don’t go home after work, okay?”

Daryl nods once, then closes the space between them for another lingering kiss. Rick loves the taste of himself in Daryl’s mouth, goes damn near dizzy with it, and pulls back slow, wanting only to stay.

“I have to go.”

“I know,” Daryl says, “I’ll walk you out before I clean up in here.”

Rick laughs, buckling his belt. “Yeah, we kinda made a mess, didn’t we?”

Daryl shrugs. “This is mild compared to the ones we’ll be makin’ in the future.”

“Got no doubt of that, angel.” Rick steals another kiss before Daryl pulls the office door open and leads him back through the lobby, into the garage. He stops short the second he steps down into the garage, and Rick collides with his back. Three guys, Daryl’s co-workers, stop working, look up at Daryl and Rick with looks of surprise, amusement.

“Damn, Dixon,” the nearest one says with a wicked grin. “I was wonderin’ what that cop car was here for. Thought you were doin’ somethin’ with it. Now I see you were doin’ the cop.”

“Shut up,” Daryl grunts, grabbing Rick by his arm and pulling him toward the garage door. 

“Bye guys,” Rick says cheerily, waving, and Daryl smacks his arm.

“You shut up, too,” Daryl tells him, but there’s no heat behind it. He leaves Rick with another quick kiss by the car. “I’m off at five,” he says. “Not much to do around here today.”

“I’m off at five, too,” Rick says. “So you better get to my place by 5:15. Don’t be late.”

“Got a lotta reasons not to be.” 

He steps back as Rick gets in the car, gives him a small wave, and then walks back toward the garage. Rick shamelessly watches his ass as he goes, smiling to himself, before he pulls out of the lot and heads back toward the station. All he can think as he drives is that he’s lucky - lucky to have Daryl, and frankly, lucky the car seat is so comfortable. The chair at his desk is not gonna be so kind for the next four hours.

#

Daryl is lying on Rick’s kitchen floor with him, sometime after seven o’clock, musing over the fact that they haven’t yet made it back to bed since the first time. He doesn’t mind so much. It seems like this is gonna be whenever and wherever the mood takes them, and if that’s during a post-shower evening snack, then so be it. In the past, when it’s been all frantic, dirty sex like this, it hasn’t lasted long. But this will. Daryl is confident in that. They have something else that goes into this, and something else behind the sex that is heavier, worth more. And at the end of the day, this is where Daryl wants to be now.

Rick curls against his side, twists their legs up together, and kisses at Daryl’s neck, sighing. “You kinda got my heart, Daryl Dixon.”

Daryl wraps one arm around Rick, turns his head and noses into Rick’s hair, places a kiss there. _His_ Rick. His new life. All right here. “Good,” he murmurs. “‘Cause you kinda got mine and I think that’s a pretty fair trade.”

Daryl’s not sure how he got so damn lucky, but he thinks he owes the universe, or maybe even Merle, a cosmically large thank you card. Because nothing has ever felt so right as Rick, and he’s finally convinced that he deserves this. He hasn’t been home in almost two days, but then again… he has.


End file.
